Echo
by Hollie Katrina
Summary: "She thought the hardest part was over when she left the cemetery, but that was only the beginning of her challenges." Carly struggles to cope with the loss of her father.


I've been on hiatus but now I'm back, for however long my muse decides to play nice ; )

If you loved iMade a Huge Mistake, iWant Cassie, and iRaise Twins, then go check out A Very Benson Christmas and catch up with your favorite characters from the series.

I don't own iCarly. Nobody does anymore. The show's over. Just kidding, Dan Schneider still technically owns it.

This is a sensitive topic to a lot of people, so please be kind with your words and cautious with your opinions. Mental illness is a very touchy topic to address, and needs to be done so with compassion and empathy toward those who must live with it day to day.

For that reason, and many others, I will be taking my time with this story. It needs to be done right, it needs to be as accurate as possible, and it needs to be written with sensitivity to those who have suffered through battles such as this, so please be patient. Thank you.

"A friend is someone who can see the truth and pain in you even when you're fooling everyone else."

X

If a tree falls in the forest and nobody is there to hear it, does it make a sound?

It was a stupid question, really. Does it really matter if it does or doesn't? The tree is on the ground, broken beyond repair. It just stays there and eventually it's forgotten and overlooked.

Maybe that tree was just tired of trying, tired of fighting off the elements and gave up. Maybe it couldn't hold up anymore and decided to let it all go.

If she was being honest, she preferred to let that thought sit in her head longer than was good for her. It was like she was consumed by it, constantly turning over the possibilities in her head. Then again, maybe she was thinking too much.

The first time the tree crossed her mind was three months ago as she walked into a church and up to a dark oak casket holding the first man she'd ever loved, her father, Steven Shay. The way he died was nothing special; he wasn't killed in a robbery or trying to save someone's life. He just died. She wouldn't find out until later that the empty pill bottle on his nightstand was really to blame.

She thought the hardest part was over when she left the cemetery, but that was only the beginning of her challenges. Sneaking down the stairs at 5:00 every morning to catch him before work and not seeing him in his favorite chair just about threw her over the edge. She remembered screaming, she remembered Spencer running out of his room and she remembered waking up in her bed five hours later.

Her friends tried to help her. Sam had yet to go back to her own house, opting, instead, to sleep on the couch in the living room and scare the hell out of her every morning when she snuck down to sit in his chair. Sam's endless questions about her well-being were just irritating, and on more than one occasion she kicked her out, but Sam always found her way back into Carly's apartment.

Freddie, on the other hand, only stopped by a handful of times, and usually at the insistence of Sam. I guess he didn't know what to say, which was fine by Carly because Sam was talking enough for the both of them.

A month ago, Sam started hauling board games over, usually from Freddie's apartment across the hall. Clue, Monopoly and Life were constantly in front of her, none of which held her interest. All she wanted to do was spend her time alone. She didn't want to talk. She didn't want to pretend. She just wanted to sit alone and let the thoughts of that lonely tree take over.

She spent most nights holed up in her room wrapped in a blanket and gripping a pillow so tight she was sure her fingers would be stuck that way. That's when the tears came. At night, in the privacy of her room, she let it all go. Some nights she wanted to scream, but she didn't want to draw attention to herself, so she swallowed it down and choked on the sobs that didn't come out fast enough.

She could feel all control of herself slipping through her fingers and the only escape she could find was a razor blade in the bathroom. With that blade she could do whatever she wanted to her body, she could take back the control that was stolen from her, and the physical pain helped release the emotional inside that she couldn't handle. The scars ran up her thighs, straight, even cuts right across the top.

She knew she was in trouble when her granddad started calling. He said it was "just to talk," but she knew he was checking up on them. He was waiting for one tiny mistake; one small excuse to destroy what little was left of her family. He insisted time and time again that she move in with him for a while, that a little time away from the memories of her father would do her good. She almost agreed, but Spencer gave her the privacy she knew she wouldn't get at her granddad's house. If she moved to Yakima, she wouldn't be allowed the little bit of control she still had over herself.

Then he started to drop by. The first five minutes of his visits were usually spend scrutinizing the apartment, insulting Spencer on his art and looking for any sign of trouble. Then he would sit on the couch, pat the spot next to him, and look her dead in the eye.

"How are you, Carly?"

She had the urge to roll her eyes, but she faked a smile and shrugged.

"I'm fine."

Sam coughed in the kitchen, where she pretended to clean up, and Carly's granddad looked at her. They nodded at each other, her granddad placed his hand on her leg and asked the same question. Carly gave the same answer.

Two weeks ago Sam cornered her as she was coming out of the bathroom. She demanded answers. Carly shrugged it off, told her she was tired and tried to move past her to go to bed.

"I saw them, Carly!"

Carly laughed. "Saw who?"

"Not who. What. I saw your legs. What the hell are you doing?" Sam's blue eyes were piercing into hers, trying to reach into her soul to sort through the mess that threatened to crumble around them. Carly could feel her hands shaking as she shoved them into the pocket of her sweatshirt, but Sam's stare never wavered and the weight of her gaze was pressing down on Carly's shoulders.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Carly mumbled, trying desperately to break eye contact. She could feel her heart in her throat, each beat coming faster and faster and all she could think about was getting away from her best friend, who was just standing in front of her, trying to force herself into an equation she didn't fit into.

"Carly—"

Carly closed her eyes, turning away from Sam. Her head was spinning, thoughts of coming clean and staying quiet mixed in her head until all voices of reason and doubt collided into a piercing scream that never escaped her lips. Her fingernails dragged across the skin on her hands as she tried desperately to put herself back together, to turn back to Sam with the smile that seemed to be permanently glued to her face and lie her way out of the situation. Sam put a hand on her shoulder and she lost the fight, spinning back and throwing herself at Sam, pushing her into the wall on the other side of the hallway. She stopped, coming back down to reality.

Sam stayed, back pressed to the wall, trying to catch her breath. Her eyes locked with Carly's again as she tried to decide whether to approach her or keep her distance. Carly's eyes were dark and empty, as if all the life had been sucked out of her, and Sam could feel the hollowness surrounding them. Her eyes shifted down to Carly's hands, where Carly was, again, scratching the skin with her fingernails, leaving streaks of white across the back of her hand that faded into a bright red.

"Carly, stop!" Sam yelled, jumping forward and grabbing her hands.

"No!" Carly screamed, pulling her hands away. Sam tightened her grip on her wrists, pulling Carly toward her, trying to restrain her.

"Stop!" Sam yelled. She could feel Carly's arms slipping from her hands and knew she was about to lose the fight against her. "Carly!"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Spencer interjected, racing up the stairs. "What is going on up here?"

"Check her," Sam said, letting Carly go. Carly's eyes darted around the hallway as she backed away. She felt like the walls were closing in on her and she squeezed her eyes shut again, mumbling to herself. It all felt like a nightmare.

"What?" Spencer looked between Sam and Carly.

"Somethings going on, Spencer," Sam breathed. There was a knot in the pit of Sam's stomach that made her want to throw up. She'd spent the last five months in the living room, waiting for Carly to come to her when she was ready, but Carly had remained silent. She only came downstairs to eat, and even then she barely spoke two words before she snuck back upstairs, locking herself back in her room until she had to make another appearance.

After waiting day after day, Sam had started to worry that there was more happening with Carly then she let on. Then one day she had caught Carly coming from the bathroom, her robe too short to cover the battle wounds she'd tried to hide, and she knew. She'd waited until Carly locked herself in her room for the night before sneaking into the bathroom. Sam's breath caught in her throat, and at first she thought it was because of the overwhelming smell of bleach, which reminded her of a hospital. Her eyes scanned the room. The rug in front of the shower had small blood stains in one of the corners, her shower was dry, despite walking out with wet hair, and the cupboard under the sink had a new lock on it—a habit Carly had never been into before. Sam shook her head, closing her eyes. Deep down she'd known Carly was up to something, but she had pushed the thought from her mind and continued as if Carly would wake up one day, come down the stairs, and pour her heart out to her best friend. Sam had taken a deep breath and moved forward to grab the key she knew was hidden under the rug. Despite keeping big secrets recently, Carly was still predictable, and Sam knew if she was going to hide something it would be under that rug. Carly hid everything there.

She'd found the razors taped to the top of the cupboard and felt a wave of nausea rush over her. She couldn't believe it had come to this, that Carly had taken to hurting herself instead of talking to her. Sam dropped the razors to the floor and sat beside them, burying her face in her hands and trying to catch her breath. She could feel the tears threatening to spill out, but she bit them back, trying to redirect her attention to how she was going to handle the situation. She knew nothing about this—about how to bring it up without making Carly shut down—and for the first time in her life she'd felt completely lost.

She still felt lost now, even though fifteen days had passed since she found the blades. She couldn't take her eyes off of Carly and the complete meltdown her best friend was in the middle of. Despite Carly's efforts, Sam could see her struggling to keep it together. It was something only she could notice, after years of observing the behaviors of her best friend in difficult situations.

"She's doing it, Spence," Sam whispered, folding her arms, her eyes still locked on Carly. "What we talked about." Even though Sam had seen it for herself, she still couldn't bring herself to say the word. Saying it made it real, more real than the scars on Carly's legs, more real than the razors taped in the cupboard, more real than the blood stains on the rug. Saying Carly hurt herself was like saying she'd failed as a friend, failed to see the warning signs, and that was a layer of guilt she knew she couldn't live with.

Spencer looked at Carly, with her eyes shut again, her hands in her pockets, and her mouth moving so quickly he wasn't sure he could understand what she was saying even if she were speaking clearly. He took a deep breath and a step toward her. He'd spent nearly every night on the computer since the topic had come up, trying to find something to disprove their shared theory.

"Carly?" he asked, gently. "What's going on?" He didn't need an answer; he already knew. He suddenly felt like he'd been thrown into a dark cave with just a match to find his way out, and looking at his sister, who had put his whole life into perspective five years ago, struggle to climb her way out of a very large hole pushed him further back into the blackness he was trying to escape.

Carly remained silent, still pressed against the wall as if she could push herself right into it and nobody would see her.

Spencer sighed, taking another step towards her. "Carly," he whispered. "Tell me what's going on. Please."

Carly's eyes opened and moved from Sam and Spencer before landing on the floor. She took a deep breath, then another, before mumbling "I'm tired."

Spencer nodded, moving closer. "I know, honey," he murmured, reaching out to her. "I know you are."

"I just," she sighed, shrinking away, "need to be alone for a while."

"Do you really think that's a good idea, Carly?" Spencer asked. Carly nodded, biting her lip.

"This is the only way I know how to deal with it."

Spencer stepped forward again, putting his hand on her arm. "What way is that?"

Carly hesitated, the screaming returning in her head. The tightness in her chest made her feel like the room was spinning and she had no control over it. She pulled her arm away from Spencer.

"Alone, Spence."

Spencer shook his head, reaching out to her again. "Carly," he whispered, putting his hand back on her arm, "I need you right now."

Carly looked up at him, the darkness in her eyes reminding him of just how lost he was. He took a deep breath, reaching into her pocket and pulling her hand out, gripping it tightly.

"I need you to be here. I need you to be healthy. I need you to be the strong, independent girl I know you are. Sam and I have given you space and time, but everybody needs somebody to talk to, and I'm afraid that you choosing to be alone is hurting you."

"Spencer—"

"Please, Carly," he begged, pulling her other hand from her pocket. "Please just talk to me. Tell me something. Anything."

She looked into the brown eyes of her older brother and felt the walls start to crumble. All the control she'd fought so hard to maintain was crashing around her and she was terrified of the mess that would result from it. She could feel her emotions wash over her as he waited, expectantly, for her to reply, to tell him her darkest secrets, so he could pretend it was alright and that he could help. The warmth of his hands reminded her of her childhood, when he would hold her hand crossing the street, or pick her up when she fell off her bike. It was comforting and sickening at the same time.

"Spencer," she whispered, looking back at the floor. "I miss him." Just like that, everything fell apart, including herself, and she fell into his arms. Spencer stroked her hair, like he'd done every time she cried, and whispered empty promises into her ear. She couldn't hear him. She couldn't hear anything. Her cries were deafening to her and she knew when she was empty she would have to come clean and hand over what little control she had left over her life.

Time seemed to stand still as she clung to her brother, waiting to finally hit rock bottom. Spencer kept her close, knowing that the only thing keeping her together was the bond they shared. After a few minutes, her tears started to subside and the emptiness returned. Taking a few shaky breaths, she stepped back, taking in the scene around her. Sam remained in place, her arms folded and her eyes a dark blue that Carly didn't recognize. Spencer's hands stayed on her arms, ready to catch her if she started to fall again. She blinked a few times, averting her eyes back to the floor and trying to slow her heart. Spencer waited patiently, watching her, bracing himself for the words he hoped would soon come from her mouth.

"Spence," she whispered, taking another breath.

"Carly," he answered. Carly shook her head, taking another step back.

"I don't know how to do this," she admitted. Spencer nodded, releasing her. He knew the worst had passed.

"I know, kid."

"Just tell me how to do this."

"I can't."

"Sam?" Carly looked to her best friend, expecting a quick fix to the problems surrounding her. Sam stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Carly and taking a deep breath.

"I don't know either, Carls."

X

I wasn't sure how to end this chapter, because if I continue writing it will turn into the entire story in one chapter (not quite what I'm aiming for here). I hope you've enjoyed the beginning of this journey, please feel free to leave a review and let me know what you think.


End file.
